


Boys and Braids

by cryingoverharrypotteralways



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Fluff, Hair, Hair Braiding, I do enjoy a good bit of flirting, M/M, especially you sourest_cherry_scone_baby!, hehe um, hope you enjoy anyway, i didn't black out for long, i had little vision for this fic, i hope y'all don't mind how short this is, i just kind of thought, simon plus baz's hair equal good, your fic rocks and i hope everyone reads it after this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryingoverharrypotteralways/pseuds/cryingoverharrypotteralways
Summary: I read (and re-read) Sourest_Cherry_Scone_Baby's fic ab Simon's hands in Baz's hair and I kind of blacked out and here we are(here's the link btw! https://archiveofourown.org/works/20750888 )





	Boys and Braids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sourest_Cherry_Scone_Baby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourest_Cherry_Scone_Baby/gifts).

> enjoy!

Simon Snow’s callused fingers weave into my hair, pulling and tugging as he miserably tries to braid it. If I had any sort of heart left, I would tell him that my hair is a few inches too short to braid properly. I would if I didn’t enjoy letting him get utterly frustrated over hair. I would, really, if I weren’t so disgustingly soft for the boy sitting in the couch above me, if I didn’t revel in his touch sending bolts of electricity down my spine, little shocks bringing me to life like some fantasy retelling of Frankenstein’s monster. Snow curses under his breath.

“This is impossible.” Snow rakes his fingers through my hair gently, undoing whatever (little) progress he might have made. Then I hear a cap pop behind me. I turn my head,

“What's that?” 

“Oh, I hope it’s ok,” Snow has, next to him, a plastic bag. In his hand, he shows me, “It’s some,” he reads the label for a second, “argan and olive oil. Can I put this in your hair?”

My breath catches; I am stupidly charmed by the idea of Simon Snow rubbing his hands in my hair, making both softer and softer in the process, by the idea of his increasingly soft touch. I take a deep breath.

“Don’t use too much,” is all I can manage. His oiled hands meet my scalp, they're cold and I shiver. Then, he starts rubbing the oil in, turning the massage warm and soft and impossibly silky. There’s no more grain, no more tucks in the wrong spot. It’s all the right place and it’s all perfect. My head leans into his thigh, and I sigh.

“Enjoying the massage?”

“All too much, darling.”

He continues, rubbing knots away and running the oil through my hair, dragging through it with his fingers, root to tip, in long and languid motions. He seems to be enjoying having me under his thumb, but that's something I've always known about him. I used to hate him for that, used to let that hatred seep under my skin and pour it into fighting him. Before I knew where that fiery feeling came from, before I hated that, too. It all seems so far away now. I feel more relaxed than I've felt in years. Simon dragging his short nails on my scalp. Pressing his thumbs into my neck, strong and tender. It makes me forget it all.

He pushed it all out ages ago; when he pushed his magic into me, when he pushed me out of my comfort zone and into that vampire club, when he pushed his lips into mine. I can't imagine hating him now, he won't let me. Simon kisses my neck.

"Thank you, Snow." I bring myself up to him, and I kiss him. He inhales and then hums into my lips, and it's a wonderful feeling.

"You smell amazing."


End file.
